Whiskey In The Jar
by Mandi5
Summary: Another Christmas on Craggy Island and Ted is determined that this will be the best Christmas ever. For him. I've always loved this series and this is my first Father Ted fic. I hope I've done it justice. Please read and review.
1. Surfing

**Father Ted **

**Whiskey In The Jar**

By

Mandi Sheridan

_Author's note: The brand of whiskey in this fic really does exist. It's made not all that far from where I live. Google it if you don't believe me. It's lovely. I don't own Father Ted but, to quote Dougal - God, it's fantastic! I hope this fic does the show justice._

**Chapter 1 - Surfing.**

December 14th.

It was not necessarily the best, but it was the most famous online auction site in the world and he loved it. His username was "dogcollardude" which, in hindsight, probably wasn't the most sensible username to use but, at the time he'd thought it appropriate and very, very cool.

And he'd loved it. Right up to the first email.

"**Your username suggests something to me,****"**the email read. **"****I think you might be the kind of dude I can relate to,****"**it said. Then it got bolder and much more worrying. "**I would like to meet you and see you wearing your dog collar. Wearing ****only**** your dog collar. . . .****"**There were a couple of winking smiley faces at the end of the email and thankfully no signature.

About fifty thousand similar emails followed. From all over the world. Similar yes, but more explicit and gradually becoming more and more disturbing.

At first he replied to a couple of them, explaining that, despite his username, he wasn't that sort of person. Not at all, but **thank you for your enquiry. **This seemed to spur them on to more explicit and intimate suggestions and he decided not to reply to them any more and just deleted them. He was a priest after all.

Then a thought hit him. What if they weren't properly deleted? He'd heard stories of people getting caught out by seemingly deleted emails.

"Ah well. Those are probably just stories." He decided, deleted the most recent batch and went back to eBay - not the best but certainly the most famous online auction site in the world.

The auction finished in five minutes. He had a quick game of solitaire (which he lost) while he waited.

Two minutes forty-three seconds to go.

He was ready to bid but waited a bit longer. No sense in bidding now only to have some fecker with a faster internet connection outbid him in the last few seconds.

He counted down the two minutes and the last fifty-nine seconds.

At fifteen seconds he typed in his bid. It was risky but he couldn't be certain his connection was fast enough to leave it any later. He crossed his fingers and waited as the seconds counted down.

He won! He'd fecking won!

No one else had bid on the item. No one else had wanted it.

The computer congratulated him and told him to pay now. He frowned at that. Then shrugged his shoulders and paid for the item. It wasn't as though it was real money. Was it? Nah. He checked it again to make sure he'd won and he'd paid correctly. The postage was a bit high but the fecker who was selling it was from up there so it was to be expected.

Everything looked to be in order so he signed out and opened another game of solitaire.

* * *

One and a half hours later Father Ted Crilly looked up from the laptop screen with the unfinished and extremely difficult game of solitaire that he was just about ready to give up on. Jasus! It was almost nine o'clock. Where had the evening gone?

Then he remembered what he had to do.

He swallowed hard - this never got any easier.

Father Dougal mcGuire was watching the television, the remote gripped tightly in his hand and his face a mask of grim concentration. Did he know? Ted suspected that he did.

"It's time, Dougal," he said quietly.

"It's time for what Ted?"

"It's nine o'clock Dougal. It's time for - you know."

"Ah, no it can't be Ted. It's far too early. Your watch must be wrong. Did you go and forget to change it when the time changed, back in March or October or whenever it is that the time changes?"

"Dougal. I'm sorry but it really is time."

Dougal sighed and switched the television off. He slowly, carefully got to his feet. This was the crucial moment. Everything hinged on getting this part right and it was a big responsibility for him. He took a deep breath and walked into the kitchen.

Ted let out his breath, unaware that he'd been holding it. He watched for Dougal coming back from the kitchen and tried not to glance at the thing in the corner.

"_**DO YE WANT ME TO PUT A WEE BIT OF ICE IN IT?**__**"**_Dougal yelled from the kitchen.

Ted winced and the blood in his veins turned to ice as he heard a rumble from the corner.

"Shhhhhhh," he hissed at Dougal. "You'll waken it."

"Oh God," Dougal realised what he'd done. "Have I? What have I done? What'll we do? Ted? Ted? I'm scared Ted."

"Just bring me the glass. Hurry up now, and for God's sake try not to make any more noise."

Dougal stepped as carefully as possible from the kitchen into the living room. He carried the pint glass at arms length in front of him. He tried not to spill any of the precious liquid but he was shaking so badly that a few drops slurped over the side.

Ted bit his lip and watched as Dougal bravely steadied his arm and the glass. Both of them sighed in relief.

But it wasn't over yet.

A deep, faraway primordial roar began. It seemed like nothing at first but then it came closer.

And closer.

And closer still.

Until it seemed to be in the room with them.

The lights flickered and almost went out.

Dougal was close to tears. He let out a whimper but bravely managed to hold on to the glass.

"It's okay Dougal," Ted's voice was barely above a whisper. "Just walk carefully towards me and hand me the glass. Carefully now."

Ted reached out and took the glass from Dougal's trembling hand. His own hand was trembling now too so he took a large gulp of the liquid in the glass.

Dougal looked horrified. "No, Ted. We need it. We need it for the . . ." his voice trailed off. He was unable to speak of the horror aloud.

"I just need a sip Dougal. Just a sip of courage."

"Can I have some?"

"Feck off," Ted took another gulp.

The faraway primordial roar became a mutter, which in turn became a grunt. Then another. Then some sort of evolutionary process (not that they believed in evolution, they were priests after all) kicked in and the grunts took on the form of words. Rudimentary and simplistic at first, but gradually they became coherent.

The final and most dangerous stage was about to begin.

Dougal and Ted were terrified but both bravely stood their ground, hoping the thing that they feared would not come to pass.

But it did.

Father Jack Hackett opened one eye and began to speak.

To be continued. . . .


	2. Exercise or Exorcise?

**Chapter 2 - Exercise or Exorcise?**

"DRINK! FECK! ARSE! NUNS! DRINK!"

Jack stopped when he reached the extent of his vocabulary. One of his eyes glared at the two priests standing in front of him. "Feck," he warned them. Translated from Jacklish into English this probably meant something along the lines of "If you nice chaps don't get me a drink I will be a tad upset."

Ted swallowed hard. It was at this moment when he had just awakened and sobriety was creeping closer that Jack was at his most dangerous. He raised the glass in front of him and bravely stepped forward.

The eyebrow above the glaring eye raised in surprise. "Feck?" Jack asked. Roughly translated this meant "Is that for me!? Why, thank you kind fellow."

Ted dipped two fingers into the liquid and flicked it a couple of times at Jack. "The glass of Powers compels you." He began to chant.

"Eh?" Jack was confused now.

"Join in Dougal," said Ted.

"Eh?" Dougal was confused now.

"The glass of Powers compels you. Say it Dougal. Say it over and over again."

"Oh, right Ted."

"The glass of Powers compels you." Ted chanted.

"The power of glass compels you." Dougal chanted incorrectly.

"No, it's - _**The glass of Powers that compels you.**__**"**_Ted chanted again. "Get it right for feck's sake!"

"Sorry. The glass of Powers compels you." Dougal chanted correctly.

Jack screamed. Ted and Dougal kept chanting.

Jack screamed again and again. Whether it was in pain, or it was the shock of Ted wasting all that whiskey by flicking at him we'll never know but something seemed to be having an effect. He screamed harder.

Ted and Dougal chanted louder. In unison this time.

"**THE GLASS OF POWERS COMPELS YOU!****"**

"**THE GLASS OF POWERS COMPELS YOU!****"**

"**THE GLASS OF POWERS COMPELS YOU!****"**

"**THE GLASS OF POWERS COMPELS YOU!****"**

"**THE GLASS OF POWERS COMPELS YOU!****"**

"**THE GLASS OF POWERS COMPELS YOU!****"**

It was like a scene from some old movie. The two priests chanting and flicking whiskey at the half-drunk demon sitting in the armchair. They chanted and flicked while the creature screamed in pain and cursed them in it's ancient language.

"**FECKERS!****"**

In a very, very deep and un-pickled part of Jack's brain two thoughts met, shook hands and struck up a brief, but important conversation.

"I have an idea," one said.

"What?" asked the second one.

"If we stop screaming maybe they'll stop that annoying fecking chanting and give us the glass of whiskey instead of just flicking it at us."

"That's a radical idea, man," the second thought said. He'd been hiding since the 1960's, man.

"Let's give it a go."

"I'm with you, bro. With you all the way," the hippie thought replied.

Jack stopped screaming.

Ted and Dougal stopped chanting.

The silence was deafening.

Ted stopped flicking the whiskey and looked at Jack. Dougal watched both of them and waited. It would either work or it wouldn't.

It did.

Like a cute widdle puppy dog Jack whimpered. His puppy dog eyes implored them and his wet nose sniffled. He held up a paw. He reached for the glass. "Drink. Drink." He whimpered.

Ted and Dougal both breathed a sigh of relief.

Ted held the glass up in front of Jack. Jack sat up and begged. Woofing and giving them his paw.

Slowly, and very, very carefully Ted gave him the glass.

Like a thirsty puppy Jack drank it all down. The whole pint glass of whiskey was empty in a matter of seconds. He belched and sat back in his armchair and waited for the drink to take effect.

It took less than five minutes. Contented, Jack belched once more and fell asleep.

Hopefully he would stay that way until nine o'clock tomorrow evening and they'd have to do it all over again.

"Whew, that was close," Dougal said.

"Almost too close," Ted agreed.

To be continued. . . .


	3. How many shopping days to Christmas?

**Chapter 3 - How many shopping days to Christmas?**

December 21st.

Ted was getting worried. His parcel hadn't arrived yet and there was only a couple more days to go. He'd been up since before eight o'clock to wait for Patrick, the Craggy Island postman, and it was now twenty past ten and Pat hadn't shown up yet. Ted checked his watch for the umpteenth time and looked out of the window.

"Is is snowing yet?" Dougal asked.

"What?"

"Is there any snow yet? I've been dreaming of a white Christmas again and it needs to hurry up and snow or it won't be a white Christmas and that song will be a big fat lie."

Ted ignored him and looked out of the window. Then he saw Pat's van coming up the road.

"It's here!" he yelled in delight.

"The snow? Where?"

"No, not the snow. The post." Ted ran out the front door into the drizzling rain and watched the post van drawing closer.

"Morning to ye Father Crilly," Pat said in pleasant greeting. "And how are ye this fine but damp morning in December?"

"Good morning Pat. Where is it?" Ted asked impatiently.

"The snow? I don't think there'll be any this Christmas. Mind ye, I've been dreaming of a white Christmas a lot lately so ye never know."

"No, not the snow Pat. The post. The post you have for me. You do have post for me, don't you?"

"Aye. I do." Pat told him.

Ted waited.

Pat smiled - waiting confidently for his five Euro Christmas tip.

"Where is it?" Ted demanded. "Where's my post. Not the snow. My post. Where is it?"

"It's here Father. No need to be getting upset. I have it right here for ye." Pat reached into the van and brought out a large package.

Ted snatched it from him and walked back to the house without a word. Or a five Euro tip.

"And a Merry Christmas to you too Father Crilly, ye tight-fisted oul fecker!" Pat yelled.

Ted ignored him and went back inside.

* * *

"What that when it's at home Ted?" Dougal asked as he watched Ted set the package carefully on the table.

"This is something very special Dougal. No one must know about it. Especially - you know who."

"Who'd that be Ted?"

Ted tilted his head towards the thing in the corner. "Him."

"Oh, right."

Ted opened the package and smiled as he took out the bottle and set it on the table in front of him.

"What is it Ted?" Dougal asked.

"It's a bottle of Feckin' Irish Whiskey Dougal."

"There's no need to be using that sort of language now Ted. I was only asking."

"No. That's what it's called - Feckin' Irish Whiskey. Here, take a look at the label."

Dougal's eyes widened in surprise and he giggled. "God that's fantastic! Where did ye get that from Ted?"

He reached for the bottle but Ted grabbed it away and held it close to his body, almost hugging it.

Dougal frowned. "I was only wanting to have a look at it."

Ted set it down carefully on the table. "You can look but don't touch."

The two priests sat facing each other at the table, the bottle between them. They stared at it for ages - admiring it. The amber colour of the contents. The label. The name. Every now and then Dougal would giggle.

"Where did you get it from?" he asked.

"From the internet," Ted replied.

Dougal's eyes widened in amazement. "The internet? Are you telling me that you just looked on the internet and then suddenly it was here on the table in front of us? God that's magic! How does that work then, Ted?"

Ted thought about it. But trying to explain the internet to Dougal would be like trying to explain it to a stone, although the stone would probably grasp the concept a whole lot quicker. But what the hell, he might as well give it a go. He'd nothing better to do at the moment.

"Well, it's like this. . ." Ted selected his words carefully. "You see, you have what's known as a wireless, and information - data and pictures and stuff like that - well they travel through it and. . . ."

"Don't be daft Ted. Pictures can't travel through a wireless. Music can and people can but not pictures. That's what the telly's for. You're talking the biggest load of nonsense I've ever heard!."

"No, no. It's not that sort of wireless. It's sort of . . . well, it's a . . . . it's like an imaginary cable, and . . ."

"Imaginary? Do you mean like it's not really there?"

"Well, it is there but . . ."

"Like an imaginary friend?"

"Um - no."

"I had an imaginary friend. But we fell out and he wouldn't speak to me ever again. God, Ted I had lots of imaginary things when I was a wee lad. I had an imaginary bike and we lived in an imaginary house and me mammy had an imaginary husband and I had a imaginary da, and guess what Ted?"

"What Dougal?"

"We had an imaginary bathroom in the imaginary house, and there were imaginary curtains - nice flowery ones, on the imaginary windows and we even had an imaginary sofa. God, it was comfy! Ted, we had loads of imaginary stuff in our house!"

"Is that so, Dougal," Ted nodded.

"But we never had an imaginary wireless. We weren't that well off. God, I'd have loved one."

"I can well imagine that." Ted looked at him.

Dougal was glancing back and forth between the laptop and the bottle of whiskey and he was trying to process something. But it was obvious that he wasn't succeeding. It was just too complicated for him.

"Ted?" he asked.

"What?"

"So how did this. . ." he pointed to the bottle of whiskey ". . . get from inside there. . ." he pointed to the laptop ". . . to out here?"

I'll bet a fiver that this is why I have grey hair, Ted thought.

"Well, it didn't really," he said. "I bought it on an online auction."

"An online auction," Dougal repeated the words slowly and carefully. "Is that an imaginary one?"

"Er, no, not really," Ted considered trying to explain it but just couldn't be bothered. "Um, yes. That's exactly what it is. It's an imaginary one."

Dougal looked relieved. Imaginary stuff was a whole lot easier to understand than real stuff. Then he frowned. "Why didn't you just buy it here?"

"Because this is very good whiskey. You wouldn't get whiskey of this quality here."

"Of course you would. You'd get it at the Craggy Island Whiskey Distillery," Dougal informed him.

"That's not a distillery Dougal. That's just an illegal still in Willie O'Riordan's shed round the back of his farm. And trust me, that stuff is lethal."

"Oh, right." He picked up the bottle and looked at it. "So where does it come from?"

"Oh, someplace up in The North."

Dougal set the bottle down very quickly.

"Are ye mad in the head or something Ted? That's a bad place. Ye shouldn't be going and buying stuff from up there. They've got bombs and stuff up there. You might have bought a bomb or something instead of whiskey. It might be illegal. Or it might blow up. We should throw this away right now Ted!"

He reached for the bottle.

Ted grabbed at it.

They struggled.

"Give it to me Ted. Before it blows up!"

Ted yanked the bottle out of Dougal's grasp and held it close.

"It's okay. It won't blow up and it's all perfectly legal. Trust me, I'm a priest."

"So am I Ted. How's that for a coincidence?" He grinned but still eyed the bottle warily.

Ted caught his look and stood up, still holding the bottle tightly. He had two major concerns to worry about now. Not only did he have to worry about Jack finding it and drinking it, he now had to worry about Dougal finding it and calling in the Bomb Disposal Squad who would probably drink it.

"I'll put it somewhere very, very safe," he said, more to himself than to Dougal.

Thankfully Dougal had lost interest and was standing by the window. He was looking for the snow but he couldn't see it for the rain.

Hands in his pockets and head bowed in disappointment, he walked off singing some nonsense about . . . _treetops glistening and children listening to hear sleigh bells in the snow _. . .

To be continued. . . .


	4. Do the mass then open the presents

**Chapter 4 - Do the Mass then open the presents.**

Dougal's eyes were wide and gleaming and his cheeks were flushed with excitement. A manic grin spread across his face and he hopped from one leg to the other. He looked like a little boy on Christmas morning.

Or he looks like someone on PCP, Ted thought as he yawned.

He was exhausted. Getting Jack settled last night had taken well over three hours. The pint of whiskey hadn't worked it's magic as well as it usually did and he'd screamed loudly and insisted that Satan was in the house and coming to get him. Dougal thought he meant Santa and screamed quite a bit himself so before they could start on Jack Ted had to sort _**that**_ sorry mess out first.

When they did finally get started with the ritual Jack had screamed and they'd chanted for what seemed like an eternity.

It had been a tough session, his throat was aching from the chanting, but it was worth it in the end. And now he had a plan to try something stronger over the festive period.

It hadn't snowed either. Of course it hadn't. Craggy Island had only two weather patterns - rain and drizzle. Snow didn't feature at all.

As a result of the lack of the white stuff on the ground this morning, Dougal had finally stopped singing "White Christmas" and had switched to a depressed rendering of Elvis Presley's "Blue Christmas" but Ted had to ban him from singing it anymore especially since he had started gyrating his pelvis and curling up his lip in the manner of "The King".

"Why not Ted?" Dougal had asked.

"Because it isn't something you should be doing during mass. And another thing you shouldn't be doing at the end of the service is saying to the parishioners - 'thank-you-very-much-you've-been-a wonderful-audience' - in an Elvis voice."

"Why not Ted?"

"Er - because it frightens them. Especially the older ones. So don't do it again."

"Okay, Ted. I wont." Dougal shrugged his shoulders, curled his lip and went back to singing "Blue Christmas" and Ted had to admit that he was pretty good at it and wondered if there was money to be made from it at some talent contest.

Ted allowed himself a brief fantasy about being congratulated by Simon Cowell - in person, not his body double, for finding the next global superstar.

He was brought crashing back to reality by Dougal.

"Y'know something Ted," he said. "Wouldn't it be really great if we were all atheists and then we could skip all that religion, and being priests, and having to go to mass nonsense, and we could celebrate Christmas properly! God, wouldn't that'd be fantastic!"

Ted chose to ignore that little snippet of heresy and looked around the room.

The table was all set and Dougal was wearing his red paper hat. He himself was wearing a blue one. Jack looked resplendent in his Santa suit and he had a happy Santa Claus smile on his face, not so much due to this being the season of goodwill or anything like that but more because Ted, using his now world-famous username, had bought an IV complete with all the accessories on eBay, and it was now filled with whiskey or quite possibly something similar from the "Craggy Island Whiskey Distillery".

It would probably be lethal to any normal human being but hopefully whatever it was that was now flowing into Jack's veins would keep him mellow and barely conscious until well into the New Year.

This was going to be the best Christmas ever!

To be continued. . . . .


	5. It's better to give than to receive?

**Chapter 5 - It****'****s better to give than to receive?**

Ted watched fascinated as Mrs Doyle alternated between glaring and sulking. Her face easily allowing him to tell which mode she was in and he actually found it quite remarkable how she managed to do it.

The fact that he hadn't bought her a Christmas present helped.

"But I got you one," she growled.

"Where is it then?" he asked.

"In the kitchen. I'll go and get it."

She got up and stormed into the kitchen.

Ted and Dougal both winced as they heard the sound of cupboard doors being slammed shut and spoons being thrown about, and much more worryingly, what sounded like a round being chambered.

Dougal made a face and listed sideways to look out of the window.

"Is that rain starting to turn to snow?" he asked.

"Doubtful," Ted replied.

Mrs Doyle stormed back into the living room and set a cup and saucer down on the table.

"Merry Christmas Father Crilly," she said in a voice that suggested nothing of the sort.

"It's a cup of tea Mrs Doyle. Are you seriously giving me a cup of tea for a Christmas present?"

"It's a very special cup of tea Father," she replied.

The words - Craggy Island Whiskey Distillery - sprung to mind. Was she trying to poison him?

"Thissss," she hissed angrily, "is a very special cup of tea. Thisssss isn't yer usual cheap Lidl or Aldi own-brand muck. Thisssssssss is a Marks and Spencer's Limited Edition Winter Wonderland Blend. Now drink it!"

"Oh, right. Where did you get it from?" Ted asked politely as he took a tentative sip.

"On eBay," she told him.

He spluttered and coughed and spat the tea out and covered his face with his hand. The pain was excruciating.

"What the feck?" He pulled something out of his mouth. It was a holly leaf. A boiled holly leaf, but it still managed to cut his lip and almost completely slashed the inside of his mouth to pieces.

"Happy Christmas Father," said Mrs Doyle with all the bitterness she could muster.

Ted was in pain and angry. He folded his arms and looked at her.

"Well, as a matter of fact Mrs Doyle, I didn't get you anything at all this year. In fact I didn't get anybody anything this year!"

There was stunned silence so Ted carried on.

"Last year's presents were pathetic! Last year, Mrs Doyle, you gave me a sandwich, Dougal gave me a piece of Lego and a single solitary piece of Lego at that, and Jack spat at me. So this year guess what? I decided not to bother."

Two pairs of eyes stared at him reproachfully. A third pair would have if they'd been awake.

Dougal put his hand in his pocket and brought out a big bow. Attached to it was a very tiny parcel.

"I got you another piece this year," he said and handed the tiny present to Ted.

"Oh for feck's sake!" Ted knew when he was beaten. He got up and stormed into the kitchen where he got three glasses which he brought back and set down on the table. He then kicked back the rug from the floor and got down on his hands and knees and prised up a section of one of the floorboards.

Deep in Jack's brain two thoughts, one a hippie the other a sensible sort of bloke, noted this for future reference.

Ted rummaged about under the floorboards for a moment then lifted out his precious bottle of Feckin' Irish Whiskey. He wiped the mouse droppings off it and placed it on the table.

He looked at Dougal and Mrs Doyle. She had a self-satisfied smile on her face and Dougal had a look that seemed to suggest that they should all be wearing those big padded suits that the Bomb Disposal Squad boys ran about in all day.

Ted cracked open the bottle and filled the three glasses.

Mrs Doyle took hers. Dougal lifted his very carefully. He was still convinced that it was really some sort of liquid Semtex.

Ted raised his glass. "Happy Christmas!"

"Happy Christmas!" they both replied.

Semi-conscious in his armchair in the corner Jack farted contentedly. That Craggy Island Distillery stuff was just as good, if not better, and Ted could keep his expensive imported Feckin' Irish Whiskey.

The end.


End file.
